"I wouldn't let your clumsy fist near it, Andy, nor your shabby leather, you villain, for the world. Go get me some oil."
Andy went on his errand, and returned with a can of lamp-oil to Dick, who swore at him for his stupidity: "The divil fly away with you; you never do anything right; you bring me lamp-oil for a pistol."
"Well, sure I thought lamp-oil was the right thing for burnin'."
"And who wants to burn it, you savage?"
"Aren't you goin' to fire it, sir?"
"Choke you, you vagabond!" said Dick, who could not resist laughing, nevertheless; "be off, and get me some sweet oil, but don't tell any one what it's for."
Andy retired, and Dick pursued his polishing of the locks. Why he used such a blundering fellow as Andy for a messenger might be wondered at, only that Dick was fond of fun, and Andy's mistakes were a particular source of amusement to him, and on all occasions when he could have Andy in his company he made him his attendant. When the sweet oil was produced, Dick looked about for a feather; but, not finding one, desired Andy to fetch him a pen. Andy went on his errand, and returned, after some delay, with an ink-bottle.
"I brought you the ink, sir, but I can't find a pin."
"Confound your numskull! I didn't say a word about ink; I asked for a pen."
"And what use would a pin be without ink, now I ax yourself, Misther Dick?"